The Impeccable Infinity

Chapter 8

         

I stood in front of Mute's door, shifting back and forth and keeping my eyes locked on the door knob, which was now shaking violently as Mute attempted to undo the lock from the other side. The louder the shaking got, the more anxious I felt that someone would walk into the hallway and ask me why I'm waiting in front of Mute's door.

I continued to keep my eyes on the door and shake in my knees, trying to take deep breathes. It's not that Mute scares me, it's that I'm scared of what Mute could tell me or do to me. I'm not in a good position right now to be messed with, especially by some boy who doesn't speak.

I kept contemplating on my options, debating on whether or not I should just walk away. But as I was mid-thought, Mute quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his room, closing the door behind him so nobody knew I was with him.

His fingers stayed tightly wrapped around my wrist as we stood in the dark room. The feeling of his pulse on my wrist is what made my heart beat more, it's a weird sensation to feel someone else's heartbeat, it's almost as powerful as looking into someones eyes.

I felt his arm pull farther away from me, but his tight grip remained. The flicker of a light came on from the opposite side of his room, blinding my eyes from the sudden blinding brightness of the lamp.

Once the dots in my eyesight faded away, I looked at Mute, who was staring me dead in the eye. His expression softened as he saw I wasn't mad at the violent entrance.

Great, now I can feel his heartbeat and his eyes are locked on mine. This just makes the connection between us twice as powerful.

"Hey," I said after spending an embarrassing long amount of time waiting for him to spark the conversation. He let go of my wrist and gave me a shy wave, picking up a notepad and pen from his desk to begin our discussion. It felt much like a therapist getting ready to talk about a patients feelings, and how they jot down everything you say, holding you accountable to every little word you speak. I've always hated that about therapists.

Mute sat down on his bed and placed his notepad and pen in his lap. He looked up at me and a smile reappeared on his face as our eyes met. He put out a hand, gesturing me to sit next to him. 

I'm about to sit next to Mute...On his bed...Don't say or do anything stupid, please!

"Hey," I whispered, starting our conversation. Mute looked down at his notepad and clicked his pen, scribbling on the first solid line of the page. When he was done writing, he leaned the paper towards me so I could read what he wrote. This is how we communicated from now on.

Hey

I smiled up at him and studied every part of his face: his faded freckles, the small dimple on his left cheek when he smiled, and the soft edging of his lips. I looked back down at my hands and blushed once I realized how long I've been staring at him, but when I looked up to continue our conversation, I suddenly forget everything I wanted to ask him. Everything I wanted to tell him. Everything I wanted to know about him.

We sat silently for a moment before another question crossed my mind, one which I asked much more eagerly than I should have.

"Have you ever spoken before?"

I screwed up. I asked the one question I told myself over and over again not to ask him. He's probably going to hate me now for putting him in such an uncomfortable position, one which he would do anything to avoid.

His eyebrows furrowed as he though about how to answer. There was slight glimpse of worry in his eyes, which made me feel even more angry at my uncensored mouth.